“Scheiße!” The unfamiliar word stirred Marietta from her patient observation, and she turned on the universal translator. “They lost him! Useless flesh!”
A man in a white lab coat threw up his hands, spitting curses, as the video feed on the terminal came to an end. Eldon Grim’s skin resembled the palest snow, shining unnaturally in the soft electric light of the room. He had a compact build; Marietta even heard several guards jokingly refer to him behind his back as “Shorty,” but the man’s foul temper shut down anyone trying to insult him to his face. Four hovering drones surrounded the professor, never leaving his side even for a second. These were both bodyguards, means of painless self-termination, and aides reminding the stubborn doctor that it was time to eat.
“Please, professor, don’t be so hard on me,” their employer, Argus Rho, joked, pressing his palms together. He maintained a jovial demeanor, yet Marietta served as his bodyguard for long enough to notice a stiffness in his body. Sir was on the verge of an explosion of violence. He snapped his fingers, calling a secretary. “Dispense triple rations to all hunters involved and immediately treat the wounded me. And pay for the soldier’s recovery. Torn hands probably hurt like a bitch. Biological recovery only; put it at the highest priority; we’ll pay whatever the cost.”
“The Mountaineers offer their gratitude for our aid and the rescue,” said the secretary.
“Return the gesture and kick me when they’re ready to make the first purchase.” Argus flashed a smile.
They were in the observation center, or as Argus insisted on calling the place, the command center of Rho Bioengineering. Marietta took it upon herself to learn about the needs of such places. While the handlers using bioforms in the field could coordinate their efforts well enough, there were times when urgent news demanded a change in strategy to save lives. Each bioform, except for those sold for private or foreign use, had a mechanical device implanted in their brain, transmitting live data to one of many centers. Conflicts in programming, lack of awareness, inability to use a body to its maximum potential, susceptibility to disease, or outdated training. The staff here collected such cases, relaying them on to the scientists.
Argus’ seat stood on a dais in the center of the room. Four walkways led to it, dividing the room into sections where specialized teams worked day and night. A large display dominated one end of the room, replaying the video of the hunters scrambling against Eight. One hunter had expired; another had entered a medical coma, but the creature’s vital signs were rapidly failing. A single blow was enough to gore insides shielded by a ribcage capable of enduring a rocket blast.
Overseers walked the perimeter of the room, examining the crew. At the first sign of irritation or fatigue, they sent an operator to rest and summoned a replacement. The company took no chances when it came to controlling its creations.
Of course, no one would dare to kick Eldon or that bastard over there. Marietta glanced at the agent, encased in a black carapace suit. A Shadow in their humble home. The thing, robot, cyborg or whatever, just walked through the front doors and kept its vigil in the observation center like it owned the place. She tried to make small talk with the person, at least get his name, but the crimson lenses glared at her from the sockets in the skeletal helmet, barely registering her existence, and then returned its lens to the display. Watching, spying and judging.
She was a coward. No other mentality ever survived in the mercenary teams of the Ravaged Lands for dozens of years. You had to know when to fold, accepting a defeat to save your employer’s life. Reputation was everything in these dangerous lands. Turned tail, leaving a village to be sacked? Prepare to starve, for no one would hire you for months, and even should the crew break, there were no guarantees that other mercenaries would take on a black-marked mercenary. A member of your crew hunted down and killed a Doggie for glory? No matter who it was — father, mother, son, daughter, or husband — if you know what is good for your people, you part ways, paying the fool his share, so not to be known as a cheater. Because vengeance waited in the night, inevitable like all blood prices.
Marietta knew it firsthand. She expelled her sister during their stay in the Soultakers Lands, begging her to flee to Pearl. They were feisty girls, escaping slavers together, nearly dying of thirst in the desert, killing their first raiders at the age of ten by biting through the bastards’ guts in a village defense to repay their salvation, later serving under Jekaterina until she went cuckoo and started nation-building, banning religions in the process.
Then, inspired by Chort’s example, Mary started taking hits on Abnormals to move up the stupid mercenary ladder. She left the crew, carrying her long sniper rifle, and returned carrying a Doggie’s head in her backpack, proudly announcing it to be a scout. Mary didn’t listen to her sister’s advice, seeking to hunt an even bigger mutant. On the third night after she banished her sister, Marietta awoke in a cold sweat, gulping in horror as a Doggie shaman, who had somehow slipped through the mercenaries’ defenses unnoticed, bathed her in the amber light of her eyes. The shaman had tossed Mary’s earless, tongueless, and eyeless head at her. Blood for blood.
Fame was meaningless. Pride served no purpose for a mercenary. Only professionalism, the ability to make no enemies, and loyalty built a reputation, ensuring future work and survival. So Marietta wasn’t worried about admitting being afraid to her employer. That Shadow gave her the same vibes as the visiting shaman. If it attacks Argus, she’ll lose her life trying to save him.
Not that the Rho was a bad employer. He provided citizenship for her crew, and both her sons and niece studied at a prestigious school, never knowing the war. She could count the number of times someone had attempted to assassinate him. Most of the time, her job required simply blocking a bullet fired by an angry citizen or reasoning with protesters who demanded to put Argus be jailed or hanged for his brothers’ crimes. The real trouble of her job lay elsewhere.
Her employer was a moron. At the sound of an explosion, Argus would abandon them, exposing himself to danger. One such reckless charge landed him in the emergency room for a week. Sometimes, she even wondered if Argus had a death wish or simply knew no fear. He made Marietta into his personal clown, making her assume her Abnormal form to demonstrate how superior and not scary the natural-born Abnormals. It may have been a lofty goal, for her boys and Mary’s girl lacked their mothers’ ability to transform and faced some prejudice on the streets for their appearance. But her muscles hurt, unhitching during the change; the enlarged bones tormented her limbs by the forceful enlargement and itch! The damned itch of her mass growing threatened to drive her mad.
Still, compared to employers like Blaguna Nokto, who had once reduced her body to a bloody rag after a deliberately impossible mission, Argus was an angel.
Eldon’s head swung at Argus’ words, and the man reached for the catwalk, struggling to climb out of the pit. Her employer nodded, catching Marietta’s intent, and she gave the professor a hand, helping him, surprised at how gently his bones felt. Iternians had access to the best biological augmentation in the world. In her view, it was inanity not to jump at this opportunity, turning themselves stronger, faster, and better in every way. But the locals thought differently, clinging to their humanity for some reason. It made her job to keep them alive harder.
“Stomach gone, primary heart ruptured, secondary heart gone, kidneys are no more, a popped eye, severe damage to the motor system…” Eldon read the report from the screen and spat; a drone immediately removed the water from the metal surface. “It’ll be cheaper to let it expire and grow another one.”
“All I care for is profit,” Argus said. “Cultivating fear of abandonment does not get me closer to that goal in the long run. Loyalty goes both ways, professor. The little me will hunt again.”
“Loyalty?” The scientist pointed a finger at him. “You are confusing living constructs for animals, sir. Hunters desire to follow the basic commands ingrained in their psyche at the expense of their own self-preservation. And, sir, self-preservation lies at the core of every living being. I suggest we administer stimulating electric shocks to the rest of the crash for the failure…”
“There was no failure, professor.” A hint of iron penetrated Argus’ tone, stopping the scientist. “Three hunters had stalled a Single Digit in actual combat, exceeding our expectations of hunters’ aptitude in utilizing their bodies’ abilities. I view it as an absolute win, a success on par with the development of the third generation of Problemsolvers. And others will too, I am sure. As for instincts, I do admit you have somewhat of a point, professor. Mini me should have run at the sight of Eight’s transformation. Recalibrate their self-preservation. We can’t have our goods destroyed in vain.”
“Sir, if I may,” Marietta asked, and her employer nodded. “I disagree about the implied inferiority to animals. The dude, girl, or whatever it is…” She nodded at the screen where a hunter carried the wounded back to the handlers. “…saved a comrade’s life. Adult cusacks risk their lives to keep their calves alive. Such bravery in preserving company property deserves commendation. And there was a reason for their continuous attack on the opposition. They sought to tie up the Number until reinforcements arrived.”
“Indeed, indeed,” Argus agreed. “See, doctor? We were wrong. Miny me do have instincts. And if they have instincts, they might also accumulate experience the way a predatory animal does!” His eyes flashed. “Think of the possibilities! No, propose culling or mistreatment of my employees to me again, and I would have to let you go, dear Professor Grim.”
“As you wish.” Eldon pursed his lips. “I’ll be working on improving the design then.”
“Make them cuter,” Argus ordered.
“Pardon you, sir?” The professor staggered.
“Like lips!” Argus was already in his excitement mode. He leaned forward, summoning the hunter’s image on the display and turning it to the side. “See how their lips go in a straight line to the ears? It creates a sort of unnerving, dispassionate face. Increase the curvature to mimic a smile. Change the pigmentation of hides and scales; give them a less scary hue. Ask the marketing team; they’ll design an appropriate color. Unblinking eyes are well and good; I don’t mean to denigrate your achievement here, professor, but eyelids are a must to make them more presentable, more cuddly…”
Marietta experienced a cold shiver. Cuter, cuddly, a smile… Iterna offered a wide range of pleasures to its citizens. From harmless drugs to full-on virtual reality simulation, where specially tailored scents and smells ensured complete immersion in a fantasy. There were also other services, of course, such as massages, performed by robotic workers. If Argus plans to expand into this market…
The same thought troubled even the Shadow. Her eyes caught no movement, no sound reached her eyes, but there was a small, very slight change in the thing’s posture.
“Sir. Sir, this is wrong,” Eldon echoed her concern. “I am an artist, a crafter of life! I refuse to participate in such vile maltreatment of a living organism.”
“Maltreatment?” Argus stood. “How so? Several years ago, the Numbers kidnapped a police officer and staged a full-on terrorist act! Not so long ago, some Cartel scum kidnapped a child and injured a trainee.” He pointed his fingers at the professor. “Eldon, Eldon, you are old enough to know how paranoid our people are about children’s safety. Imagine a pet, more loyal than a dog, smarter than a cat, sensitive enough to understand when a child is in emotional distress, strong enough to carry a child out of harm’s way or smash a criminal’s face in! It is a perfect investment; sure, at first people will hesitate, but eventually everyone will come around. And once the public at large accepts our helpers, the government will follow. Imagine the profits we’ll make once we’re allowed to export our new and improved hunters worldwide!”
“Oh, thank God.” Eldon exhaled. “Yes, sir, it is a perfect point. I retract my objections. For a minute, I thought… It really doesn’t matter. I will begin improvements at once.”
“You thought what?” Argus inquired, but the professor charged past his seat toward the exit. “Eldon! I demand to know what inane idea had graced your mind.” When he received no answer, he beckoned his bodyguard closer. “Marietta. All this talk about shutting down a perfectly functional hunter and the proposed punishment worries me. I grant you full access; make a full sweep. If there’s even a hint of something going foul around here, report it at once. I don’t need animal rights activists breathing down my neck, too.”
